


Comfort

by Polywantsanother



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 11:31:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12886953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polywantsanother/pseuds/Polywantsanother
Summary: Demencia is need of comforting. ANGST FLUFF.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I based Demencia's crisis specifically on the things I experience when I have a bipolar manic cycle flavored panic attack. If you are triggered by descriptions of things like that, here's your warning

She couldn’t help herself when her mind started buzzing. It literally buzzed and it felt like a mix of a sneeze that wouldn’t come and a dull tickle. It writhed over her brain and it made her whole body feel like it didn’t fit. 

One day she had spent ten minutes staring at her feet because she was convinced they were not her feet. Yes, there was the lump on the second toe where she had broken it years ago, but it wasn’t her foot.

How was she supposed to behave when she felt like that?

The slight crescendo of a piece of music, even for a commercial jingle, would make her want to sob and laugh hysterically. It tore at her throat till it escaped over her teeth, between her lips, and through her fingers. 

She shivered and twitched and her teeth felt strange in her mouth. She gnawed and clawed, or else she would turn on her own flesh. Scars on her arms and wrists attested to her raving moments.

If she could just get someone to love her. To show her that she wasn’t insane.

It hurt.

She curled on the couch, as tightly as she could, pressing her knees into her chest. Clenching her teeth, she tried to resist the urge to bite down on something. Her fingers she curled into her palms, digging her nails into the soft flesh. 

The buzzing would not stop.

“Demencia?” Her head snapped up and she realized then that she had been crying.

“Fluuuuuuuuuuuug.” She warbled, her mouth pulled wide in a grotesque version of a smile. 

“Demencia, what’s the matter?” Flug sat on the other end of the couch, leaving her some space. He leaned over, tilting his covered face to look up at her. 

“It won’t stop.” Demencia whispered, clutching at her hair now. She pulled, could feel the tug on her scalp, but the pain seemed so far removed. 

“Can I come closer?” Flug asked. Demencia relaxed but pressed herself further into the corner of the couch, her hands still in her hair.

“Yuh.” She said softly. She heard fabric slide against the cushion, felt the weight shift closer toward her. He sat there quietly as Demencia tried to remember how to breathe like normal. 

“Demencia.” Flug started and she sniffed. “Would you like a hug?” Tightening in on herself again, tugging harder on her hair, Demencia gave one short nod.

The weight on the couch shifted again and suddenly, she felt Flug’s arms wrapped awkwardly around her. 

“It’ll be okay Demencia. It’ll pass.” Flug whispered and rocked her toward him. Sniffing again, something inside of Demencia cracked. Her throat felt hotter, tighter, and wails erupted painfully out of her. 

She didn’t know why she was crying. It was as if everything had become too much, put under a tight lid and left to boil. Every noise, every physical sensation, every heavy scent had grated on her and now she howled, banishing all of this  _ everything _ out of her. Off of her.

Flug whispered comforting sounds into her ear and stroked her hair with one hand, keeping the other around her. 

“It hurts Flug.” Demencia whimpered.

“Want to try something that helps me?” Flug asked softly.

“....yuh….” She replied. Flug lifted his head, and let out a short whistle. It took a minute, but soon 5.0.5 came blundering into the room.

“It helps me to feel a lot of weight on me. It, I don’t know, squeezes all of the panic out.” He said. “Still want to try?” Demencia nodded. “Okay, we’re gonna slide down onto the floor. I’m going with you.”

Demencia clung to him, holding tightly to his coat, as he slid them both off the cushion and onto the floor. Once they were seated, 5.0.5 laid down in front of them and then leaned carefully onto them.

The weight was immense and Demencia could not easily turn. But she could breathe, and the pressure was oddly stabilizing. It squeezed on her lungs and she forced all of her breath out before drawing in more air. 5.0.5’s fur was warm and smelled like something earthy. The weight made her focus on her breathing and it started to even out. She still clung to Flug and he still held her, still whispered comforting noises into her ear. 

“I’ll stay with you until it’s over.” He said.

Her crying lessened. Her stiff fingers relaxed and fell away from his coat. Demencia felt wrung out and tired, so she put her face against 5.0.5’s back. Closing her eyes, she smiled over at Flug, still trapped under the beast with her.

“Thank you Flug.” She whispered.

“Anytime Demencia.” He replied quickly. Demencia quieted, felt the same hot wrenching in her throat as she fought down tears.

“Why though? With everything that I do, why?” Her voice was shaky and she felt Flug lean forward, hugging her again.

“You break things and I get mad. We fight. But that doesn’t mean I hate you Demencia.” He said. Sniffling, crying, Demencia nodded. 

“Ok.” She murmured. Flug gave her a squeeze and sat back up, his back against the couch.

“Want to watch TV?” He asked. With a loud sniff, Demencia opened her eyes and held her quivering lip in tight.

“Cartoons?” Flug chuckled and reached into the pocket of his lab coat. He pulled out a remote and heaved himself up over 5.0.5’s bulk as much as he could. When he switched on the TV, Demencia took clambered up, still being partially laid on. 

Colors flashed in the dark room and the volume was lowered, but Demencia lay over 5.0.5 much like a barrel and watched the little pictures. TV shows could feel cold to her sometimes, like an ice bath for a fever.

She turned and looked at Flug who, surprisingly, was actively watching the show. Or as actively as she could tell, with the goggles and the paper bag. He was at least facing the television.

“Can I wear your goggles?” She asked suddenly. Startled, Flug turned to her.

“Huh? Oh, sure.” He started to lift the band, easing the goggles over his head. “They won’t turn on for you, but you should still be able to wear them.” The paper bag crinkled as he took off the glasses. He grunted as he leaned over, still pinned down, and crowned her with them. Smiling, Demencia pulled them down over her eyes. 

They were heavy, and definitely dark, but she could still see the shapes and colors of the cartoon.

“Thanks Flug.” She said again.

“Of course.” He replied.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot so IDK when or even IF there will be more.
> 
> But I hope you like more DementedPaper fluff

It wasn’t obvious at first.

Every so often, when Flug would chase Demencia out of his lab, only to find a soggy, half-cooked  _ something  _ sitting at his desk. As he shifted the plate into the trash, he would see his note.

“Feed: 5.0.5, Demecia, Me, that Cactus”

With a sigh, he’d get up and head to the kitchen.

Then there were the times that Black Hat would get angry and grab him by his shirt. Suddenly, Demencia would be at their feet, growling. After the first time, Black Hat had simply thrown him to the ground and walked away.

He heard her skitter into his lab late one night, and he caught sight of her out of his peripheral. She had a habit of crawling along the walls when she wanted to be inconspicuous. Flug was focused on his experiment and, as she didn’t seem to be actively engaged in any sort of destruction, ignored her. It was tedious, the experiment, but necessary to test the second round of this particular composition. After stopping a frog’s heart, he would inject a resurrection serum. The point was trying to figure out when the serum deteriorated the subject past any useful state. Currently, he had gotten the test subjects to three resurrections before the body became unstable.

Their hunger for living flesh started right after the first resurrection, but he could live with that.

“Yes Demencia?” He finally prompted, throwing the switch to stop the frog’s heart.

“You love him, don’t you?” She sounded, he thought, hopeful. She craved a specific answer and luckily, this time, it was one he could easily give.

“Of course.” He looked over at her finally. “You too right?” She nodded once, then looked away. Demencia had a hard time focusing on objects that weren’t moving, or moving slowly. Her eyes flicked all over the place, never able to land on one spot for long. 

“He doesn’t love us.” She said softly. 

“That’s more to do with him than us.” Flug said simply and turned back to his work, filling a syringe with a bright pink liquid. “Though there’s plenty wrong with us.” 

“Do you like me Flug?”

“Of course Demencia.”

“Can I wear your goggles?”

“I’m working right now.”

She stayed silent, but she also didn’t skitter away. Flug set down the syringe and looked over at her again. She was trying to hide in her hair. 

“Want to see the inside of this frog?” With large eyes and a gasp, Demencia crawled down the wall and into his lap. 

His left side effectively hindered, as Demencia knelt on the ground and perched her elbows into his thigh, Flug picked up the scalpel with his right hand. It was nice being ambidextrous, but he was better with his left hand for precise movements. But, Demencia did always know the best way to trip him up. 

Not even a minute after he made the first incision did Demencia decide she wanted to touch the decaying subject. Flug yelled, she laughed, frog guts got everywhere, and Demencia ended up on the ceiling while Flug attempted to dislodge her with a broom.

“You. Need. A. BATH.” Flug punctuated each word with a jab to some part of Demencia’s body with the broom handle. She hissed and tried to bolt but, as she was still trying to hide her face in her hair, she missed the light fixture in her path. Tripping over it, Demencia fell on Flug and they collapsed into a heap. 

As she got up to run, Demencia found herself caught up in 5.0.5’s arms. 

The bear trilled as Flug stood and dusted himself off. Demencia struggled and chomped on the thick, furry arm, but 5.0.5 no longer even registered most of her attempts to get free.

“You stink.” He stated.

“All that we are is the result of what we have thought.” Demencia shot back. Flug raised his hands up toward his face, his fingers curling in confounded frustration. 

“Your stench comes directly from the inside of a zombie frog!” 

“But I had to  _ think _ about that first.” Demencia grinned as Flug slapped a hand to his face, groaning.

“Then you can  _ think _ about a bath while we get there.” He retorted.

Demencia howled as they made their way through the villa.

Once in the bath, Demencia was quite content.

As she gnawed on a rubber ducky, Flug upended a plastic tub over her head. Soapy water gushed over her, causing the hair that had fallen into her face to stick to her skin.

To bathe her, Flug had rolled up the sleeves of his lab coat, though he still had on his gloves. Demencia shoved back some of her hair and stared, as much as she could anyway, at the collection of thin scars. His skin looked like the cracked screen of a dropped phone. Pockets of tightly clustered scars branched out in straight, angry lines.

“What happened to you?” Demencia asked, her voice muffled as she spoke around the rubber duck.

Flug didn't even glance down.

“Accident.” He answered quickly. It was a rubber stamp answer, one he had given often. If she could see the word, she would notice that some of the letters had been worn down from use. 

He did look down then, and saw Demencia sitting still. With a sigh, Flug sat away from the tub, leaving his hands resting on the edge so they would drip into the bathwater.

“It really was an accident. A plane crash. It's when my parents died.” Flug chuckled and grabbed the rubber duck. “They were flying a Cessna full of illegal ballistics through the wrong airspace and were shot down.” He tugged playfully on the duck as he spoke and Demencia shook her head, growling. He released the duck and Demencia spat it toward the faucet. It hit and bounced off with a satisfying ding.

“My parents sold me.” Demencia chirped, as if Flug didn't already know everything about her. 

“And now we're here. In the employ of madman.” Flug stood, wincing as various joints popped and crackled. He grabbed the towel he had placed on the sink and held it up. As the water sloshed, Flug looked away. Demencia giggled as she stepped out of the bath and wrapped the extra large towel around herself. 

“Thanks Flug.” Demencia said. As she moved to the door, she lunged and Flug flinched, holding up his arms. But Demencia was faster and kissed the paper bag in the vicinity of his cheek before darting out of the bathroom. Sighing again, deeper now, Doug started to clean up.

“The hair. It's  _ everywhere _ .”


End file.
